


Before the Table Turns

by plumtrees



Series: Four's a Party [4]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blindfolds, Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, Face-Fucking, Foot Fetish, High Heels, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pet Play, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sensory Deprivation, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 10:15:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6466390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plumtrees/pseuds/plumtrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p></p><blockquote>
  <p>“Look, Mattsun.” Oikawa breathes over his ear and Matsukawa opens his eyes. He blinks away the mess of colors and dots swimming in his vision until everything finally clears, then promptly groans at the sight.</p>
  <p>Hanamaki and Iwaizumi are kneeling between his legs, naked, backlit by the screen of Hanamaki’s laptop; mouths open wide as they attack each other, all snapping teeth and battling tongues in a rabid parody of a kiss. Hanamaki takes Iwaizumi’s tongue in his mouth and hollows his cheeks, and he retaliates by biting over his puckered lips.</p>
</blockquote>
            </blockquote>





	Before the Table Turns

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for beta-ing my darling [gondowan](http://gondowan.tumblr.com)! Final edits were mine, so any mistakes you find are my fault. Hehe!
> 
> Final set, let's go!

Matsukawa doesn’t know how much more of this he can take.

He catches the squeal of sneakers outside, calls of _nice receive_ and _don’t mind_ and shit, he can never hear those words again without popping an erection.

His hands twitch on either side of his head, kept in place by a steel bar pushed into a loop at the nape of his collar. A whine flies from his lips as the intensity of the vibrator taped to the underside of his cock increases. His thighs ache at being kept in the same position for so long but the arms of the chair and the silk rope spread him wide, the wood digging beneath his knees as his legs spasm pathetically.

He’s cruelly reminded of the clamps with every lurch of his body, the steel weights tugging at the sensitive nubs as they swing left and right. His teeth grit around the ball in his mouth. The drool has slid as far as his abdomen, the only thing cooling his overheated body. The toy fluctuates playfully between settings, the buzz near-deafening in the silence of the small room. He constricts around the plug inside him, all its curves and bulbs rubbing against all the right places. He breathes and is hit with the musty smell of sports equipment and his own sweat.

Suddenly, the headphones flare to life. The sounds from outside are clearer—closer—as if he’s actually _right there_ trussed up in the middle of a volleyball court like a spectacle. He groans softly as the mental image burns behind his eyelids.

“Do you have any idea how you look right now, Issei?” Hanamaki’s voice greets him dark and sweet. “You can act as aloof as you want but we all know you just wanna be put on display.”

His eyes squeeze shut behind the blindfold when the vibrations suddenly change into pulses. He pictures Hanamaki with his thumb on the buttons, mulling over what other form of torture to inflict on him next.

“I have my phone in my hand right now, watching you squirm. If anyone just so much as glances at me, they’ll see you, all strung up on my phone screen.”

He can hear Hanamaki’s breathing blowing static through the headphones and he swears he can almost feel each whiff of air over his ear. 

“Everyone will know what a slut you really are.”

Without preamble the setting shoots to maximum, and Matsukawa’s back arches off the chair, pushing the ropes to their limit, painfully chafing his knees as he squirms in response to the sudden waterfall of sensation. The dull throb in his teeth worsens as he tries to clamp down his noises— _what if someone heard?_

There is the shriek of a whistle, and suddenly the toy dies down. He gasps at the shock of having his orgasm denied, the pleasure ebbing into an irritating heat that makes his skin prickle.

There is nothing but muffled conversation from outside the door, sprinkled with shouts and exclamations from the more excitable members of the teams. He recognizes the voices of his own teammates and his brain, treacherous as it is, brings up countless scenarios of them discovering him like this. Another wave of pleasure hits when the setting goes up again and he fails to clamp down his moan this time.

“Takumi-chan,” a voice clears the fog of his thoughts, and he recognizes it as Oikawa’s, addressing one of the freshmen on his own team, “could you go check if I left my towel in the equipment room, it doesn’t look like it’s here.”

Ice shoots through Matsukawa’s veins. His jaws instinctively clench around the gag so hard he thinks he may actually succeed in crushing it. Eager steps patter closer, his heartbeat picks up, faster, faster, thudding loud enough to make his head hurt—

He’s completely blindsided by his orgasm when it comes, all full-bodied jerks like jolts of electricity zapping through him, breaths circulating short and fast and sounds he can’t even classify spilling from his lips.

“Oh! Wait, nevermind. I found it.” Oikawa laughs, horribly cheerful, and Matsukawa nearly roars in indignation.

The same light footsteps fade out, stepping away from the supply closet, unknowingly leaving Matsukawa trying to calm himself as his body continues to pulse adrenaline through him, failing to register that the danger has passed.

 

-

 

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Mattsun.” 

Oikawa’s voice floats through the air, much, _much_ later, after all the teams have gone home, after Matsukawa’s been dragged to and from the edge so many times that he’d failed to even keep count. After his last orgasm, they’d been more careful about not letting him come, letting the molten heat build and cycle through him and offering no outlet for it. He knows he’s a mess: a mass of oversensitive nerves with drool, moans, and distorted pleas pouring out of his slack mouth— _please just let me come pleaseplease **please**_.

He hears them approach shortly after the squeal of the door as it’s shut behind them. They hover over him, just close enough to touch, if only his limbs aren’t restricted to the barest centimeters of movement. Instead of granting him relief, the vibrator dies down. He wails in disappointment.

“I’m sure he handled it just fine without us.” Hanamaki says, and someone comes up to remove the headphones from his head. His ears itch, the elliptical shape of the earpads still tingling on both sides of his head.

The sound of tapping keys fills the silence after Hanamaki’s words. Suddenly, the laptop’s speakers crackle around Matsukawa’s disembodied voice, muddled around the gag as he screams—thrice—voice pitching higher after each one. A flash of the memory hits him, jerking with every spurt of cum, his heart threatening to burst from his chest, the sound of approaching footsteps.

Oikawa moans along with the recording of Matsukawa’s pitiful whimpers. “Your muffled screams are the _best_ , Mattsun.”

“Hanamaki sure can learn a lot from your stamina.” Iwaizumi follows up, but Matsukawa catches the huskiness to his voice, rough with arousal he failed to mask. Hanamaki growls and Oikawa laughs.

“Now, now, how about putting all that energy to better use, hmm?”

More silence, only this time Matsukawa’s skin crawls with the heat of their stares, and it is the anticipation of not knowing what comes next that wakes the ghost of their touch along his skin. Even without his vision, he can picture them clearly—hungry and ready to pounce. He knows that even with how easily they feign at being unruffled, they’re still fighting against the pure, primal _need_ coursing thickly through their veins, just as urgent as his, if not more. 

Oikawa gently removes the vibrator, keeping his touch light enough to prevent Matsukawa from getting any form of release from his hands.

“You had a little too much fun, Mattsun. Now it’s our turn.” 

As expected, something else takes the toy’s place to wrap around his cock. The buckle around his balls tightens to the point of pain and Matsukawa shrieks, embarrassingly high. He realizes the implications of the added restraints and braces himself for what’s to come.

There is the brief shuffle of clothes hitting the floor, an exchange of soft murmurs that he can’t quite catch. Muffled footsteps approach and the air goes heavy with their mixed scents, clean, completely absent of the strong musk of sweat after practice. The swirling heat in his belly threatens to boil over with how impatient he is for them to just take him, to touch him, to ruin him even more than he already is.

Someone’s hand wraps around his dick, fingers teasing at the edges of the leather straps running up the length of it. Large hands splay flat against chest, gliding down his sweat-soaked body, purposefully pressing into the ticklish spots between his ribs before closing around the clamps around his nipples and _squeezing_. 

Matsukawa jerks away from the contact to a chorus of amused, haughty laughter. The fingers return but this time it liberates him from the metal teeth, a long tongue coming up to soothe the pain, licking swollen and oversensitive nubs and sucking them one at a time into a hot, wet mouth.

Whoever it is sucks lewd and loud, soft lips puckering over his nipple before retreating, licking a path down the middle of his torso. The hand on his shaft tightens experimentally, fingers extending to knead his balls. They play around with him a bit more, poking here and there with hands and mouths, contact that serves their own exploration more than his own burning need for gratification, like they’re trying to figure out what makes him tick, as if they don’t already know his body inside and out.

He hears the wet sound of mouths and tongues working, sucking, but no touch comes with the noise and his brows furrow in confusion. One hand comes up to the back of his head, fingers pulling away at the knot to remove the blindfold.

“Look, Mattsun.” Oikawa breathes over his ear and Matsukawa opens his eyes. He blinks away the mess of colors and dots swimming in his vision until everything finally clears, then promptly groans at the sight.

Hanamaki and Iwaizumi are kneeling between his legs, naked, backlit by the screen of Hanamaki’s laptop; mouths open wide as they attack each other, all snapping teeth and battling tongues in a rabid parody of a kiss. Hanamaki takes Iwaizumi’s tongue in his mouth and hollows his cheeks, and he retaliates by biting over his puckered lips. 

The sight is enough to make his cock twitch and the motion brings it into focus, alarmingly red and bound with black leather strips all connected by a thick, vertical strap at the underside.

“I think Mattsun’s feeling a bit left out.” Oikawa points out from above him, standing behind the chair, and they both look up, eyes smoldering, pupils eclipsing the entirety of their irises. Matsukawa shivers.

They don’t waste any time teasing, the soft, wet slide of their tongues between the leather a blessing on his throbbing cock. Hanamaki climbs up to his head and presses a playful kiss there, sucking the precum into his mouth.

“Hey, not fair.” Iwaizumi huffs, trying to nudge Hanamaki aside.

“Tough shit, I got here first.” Hanamaki glares right back. Matsukawa whines when he takes his cock in both hands.

They stare each other down and Matsukawa squeaks in alarm when Hanamaki’s hands tighten around his cock, almost possessively. Iwaizumi snarls, lip curling back to reveal teeth before ducking to take his balls into his mouth, sucking viciously. Matsukawa writhes, fighting harder against his bonds, keening when Hanamaki resumes his task, seemingly determined to one-up Iwaizumi yet again.

“Look at them fighting over your cock, Mattsun.” Oikawa chuckles, words tickling his ear. Hanamaki laps over the slit with the rough surface of his tongue before alternating to the smooth underside. Iwaizumi turns his head slightly to nip at his inner thighs, the stretch amplifying the blunt scrape of his teeth, scattering marks across the span of it. Oikawa, never one to be left out, reaches down and takes the hardened points of his nipples and rolls them between his fingers, each light pinch already more than enough to send pleasure sparking through him.

Matsukawa’s legs continue to struggle in the restraints, an instinctive bid to defend himself from the onslaught but the bonds hold, the sting over reddened, irritated skin adding another layer to the experience.

He wants to come and he’s _so close_ but the harness keeps his orgasm painfully out of reach.

 _And they call_ me _the sadist._ he grumbles mentally, with what very little cognitive ability he can string together. The thirst for orgasm is quickly leaving him incoherent, words and thoughts slipping like sand through his fingers.

“You think too much.”

Matsukawa opens his eyes— _when did I close them?_ —and sees Iwaizumi frowning sternly at him. He inches up to join Hanamaki at his head, their cheeks pressing together. Iwaizumi turns to whisper in Hanamaki’s ear and he rolls his eyes.

Iwaizumi’s tongue darts out first, the fine point of it tracing the head. Hanamaki seems more amiable to sharing this time, adjusting to give Iwaizumi enough room. He opens his mouth and Matsukawa watches their tongues clash as they trail up and around his length, groaning at the sight of Iwaizumi licking up the flat of Hanamaki’s tongue, the white of his precum mixing with the clear of their saliva, the sloppy mess of liquids dribbling down his shaft.

Oikawa laughs, a jet of air over Matsukawa’s searing skin and steps away from the back of the chair to stand behind Hanamaki and Iwaizumi. He reaches out and strokes through their hair like they’re favored pets. 

Oikawa’s already hard, Matsukawa’s mouth goes dry just staring at the proud curve of his cock, his hole shamelessly clenching around the plug inside him. 

“Iwa-chan, I think it’s time you show Mattsun what you brought.”

Iwaizumi retreats obediently, leaving with one last peck to his inner thigh and Oikawa takes his place. He greets Hanamaki with a kiss, grabbing the back of his head and fitting their lips together, unnecessarily loud as they moan and whine overplayed worse than the actors in the AVs Matsukawa used to watch. They part, a thin, gossamer thread of spit bridging the curves of their lips. He wants to look over to Iwaizumi to see what he’s doing but the two below him keep his attention locked, attacking both each other and his cock, shamelessly sloppy and eager. 

Matsukawa sobs as his cock is enveloped in the soft, hot interiors of their mouths. Hanamaki suckles along the sides, soft lips pressing little pecks and butterfly kisses along his shaft. Oikawa slides his head along the walls of mouth, his cheek bulging obscenely on the outside.

A sharp _click-clack_ resounds across the small space. Matsukawa’s eyes snap to the source and sees Iwaizumi, suddenly much taller than he should be. He almost doesn’t feel it when Hanamaki and Oikawa abandon his dick. Iwaizumi’s walking towards them, power and confidence in every step. Matsukawa whimpers when he finally stands close enough to be seen in his entirety.

“It’s so jarring having to look up at you.” Hanamaki jokes, even as his head clearly angles up and down, appreciating the view.

Iwaizumi crosses his arms, and whether or not he intended to flex his biceps along the way, Matsukawa might never know. “Keep talking and I’m gonna shove this heel up your ass.”

Hanamaki wolf-whistles. “Kinky.”

They exchange a few more snide remarks, but Matsukawa’s too busy taking in Iwaizumi’s sculpted legs, the cuts of his thighs, the prominent curve of his calves. Drool pours out of his mouth when he finally sees the sleek black material hugging Iwaizumi’s feet.

The sight is stunning, and Matsukawa can do nothing but stare in awe at the teasing slips of skin from behind the diamond cut-outs in the dark vinyl, at how gracefully Iwaizumi can present himself even when all his weight is basically on the balls of his feet, how effortlessly he walks despite the unnatural arch his feet are being forced into.

“Mattsun, you’re practically gagging for it.” Oikawa taunts, flicking a finger over the slit and coming away with a thick string of precum. “We’re spoiling you too much today. Do you even deserve to lick Hajime’s feet?”

Hanamaki turns his attention towards him, far too smug. He raises himself higher—just until their faces are level—to lick at the red ball slotted between Matsukawa’s teeth and sweep his tongue over his chin, cleaning off the mess of his saliva and replacing it with his own. Matsukawa upturns his eyebrows in what he hopes is a beseeching expression. A laugh blows over his chin and Hanamaki unclasps the restraints on his wrists and unhooks his collar from the bar while Oikawa tugs the ropes loose.

Hanamaki’s fingers free him from the gag and linger on his aching jaws, all false tenderness. “Well? What are you waiting for?”

He’s pushed gracelessly to the floor, jolting the plug inside him and awakening pinpricks of sensation along his disused legs. He gets on his hands and knees with all the clumsiness of an infant, and practically crawls his way towards Iwaizumi, who’s sitting on the chair he’d pulled up, legs spread wide with his elbows resting on his knees. His eyes watch his every move, ice-cold as Matsukawa kneels in front of him.

A satisfied smirk is the only crack in that stony exterior. He rocks one foot back to balance on a six-inch heel and Matsukawa licks his lips.

“Go on.” Iwaizumi encourages and Matsukawa dives.

He ducks his head and breathes in the potent, addictive smell of faux leather, followed by an undertone of the warm fragrance he strongly associates with Iwaizumi’s skin. His tongue darts out to tentatively trace the diamond-shaped windows, then follows the slope of Iwaizumi’s foot upwards, leaving a slick trail as he goes.

The play of textures and flavors on his tongue is a heady experience. He angles his head to suck a section of Iwaizumi’s foot into his mouth, teeth and lips catching at the material. He lowers himself to the window that exposes Iwaizumi’s toes, licking between them. He feels Iwaizumi shift beneath his tongue, and the next thing he knows is Iwaizumi’s sliding his foot beneath his chin, jerking his head up to meet his gaze. 

“Get up.”

He swallows thickly, Adam’s apple catching against the collar as it bobs with the act. He lifts himself up to a kneeling position, inching forward on his knees to maintain their proximity, keeping his back straight. Iwaizumi’s grin turns feral and Matsukawa nearly chokes when the curve of his foot cradles his balls and cock.

“Are you trying to kill me?” he whimpers, a rasp in his voice, and he realizes his mistake too late when Iwaizumi’s eyes flash and his leg hitches higher, pressure heightening until it becomes pain.

“I don’t remember any of us giving you permission to talk, Issei.”

He knows better than to apologize, ducking his head, pliant and taking his punishment until Iwaizumi is satisfied. It doesn’t take much. Out of all of them, Iwaizumi is the most merciful, always hesitant to deliver pain, always too quick to let up.

True to form, the pain lifts, Iwaizumi’s foot shifting into in a soothing rocking motion. He can sense that Iwaizumi is trying to stay emotionless, but there is an undertow of worry in his actions. _Tell me this is okay_ he says without words and Matsukawa leans forward, a silent bid for a kiss. Their eyes meet and Matsukawa tries his best to project everything he’s feeling: hunger, desperation, _more_. 

Iwaizumi’s eyes widen and he surges to kiss him, relieved and ready to let loose, a starving wolf freed from its cage.

Matsukawa angles his head back, lets Iwaizumi ravish him as much as he wants; Matsukawa’s own taste and the pungent aroma of industrial vinyl wafting in the joined caverns of their mouths.

A hand suddenly bears down on his head and long fingers flex and tug sharply at his hair, pulling him away from Iwaizumi. He opens his eyes to find Oikawa already beside him, pumping his own cock and groaning softly at every upstroke. Without thinking, his jaw hangs open and Oikawa eagerly accepts the invitation, sliding between his lips.

“That’s it.” Oikawa gasps, hands clenching in his hair when he finally relaxes his throat enough to take him all in. “God, you’re so good at this.”

He’s taking him in deep enough that his forehead is pressing against Oikawa’s abdomen. He takes staccato breaths through his nose, head spinning with the spicy-sweet scent of Oikawa all around him. He looks up at him through his lashes and shivers at the way the shadows play on his face, menacing and sinister. WIthout warning, he thrusts harshly and Matsukawa’s forced to swallow Oikawa’s cock, gagging as it makes its way down.

He chokes on the first few tries, Oikawa never giving him ample time to recover between each merciless thrust, pulling out entirely before pushing himself back in, steering Matsukawa with the powerful fingers grasping at his hair. He finally gets it right on the fourth, syncing Oikawa’s entry with a large intake of breath.

He keens high around Oikawa’s cock when the plug is suddenly ripped out of him, the bulbous tip catching against his rim on its way out. Hands grab his cheeks and pull them apart, exposing his winking hole to the humid air.

“You’ve been stuffed full for so long I bet being empty must be agony for you.” Hanamaki hums, following the circle of his gaping entrance with his tongue, teasing scant centimeters of it inside. He draws back briefly and spits inside him, three fingers immediately following, spreading the crass lubricant. He’s stretched loose from the toy and just barely slick enough to spare him the friction of Hanamaki’s thrusts.

“You’re so loose, so used up. Will you even feel it when I fuck you, Issei?”

He tries to respond but Oikawa refuses to let him up. He whines when Hanamaki’s fingers slide out, leaving his asshole gaping loosely, the ring of muscle throbbing in time with his fluttering pulse.

 _I’m ready for you._ he screams in his head, whining low and desperate, _I’m leaking and open. What the hell are you_ waiting _for?_

Hanamaki grabs him by the waist and slams into him, his hole yielding to the girth spreading him wide, much more than the slender toy did. He inches inside of him, raking every nerve with a steady pleasure. Matsukawa shudders, breaths suddenly coming up too fast. His ass clenches tight around Hanamaki’s cock, dragging a moan from him.

Hanamaki fills him completely, settling deep within him and grinding in a circular motion, purposefully teasing his sweet spot but never hitting it directly. It makes him squirm, unconsciously trying to chase the sensation and Hanamaki’s nails dig into his hips in warning.

He shoves into him again, pulsing hard inside Matsukawa. His version of fucking has always been fast and harsh, each thrust drilling all the way in and culminating with the sharp _smack_ of skin, coming with the same vigor every single time. The motion of it rocks Matsukawa onto Oikawa’s cock, onto Iwaizumi’s foot, and he thinks if he isn’t occupied by Oikawa’s cock he’d be screaming loud enough to scrape his throat raw.

His eyes roll up at Oikawa only to find him with his head hung back. He can feel him throbbing in his mouth, ready to blow his load. The pressure of Iwaizumi’s foot begins to slip and he whines, tries to lower his body, shamelessly trying to chase the shape of it.

A hand comes between his legs and pushes Iwaizumi’s heeled foot upward, grinding it harder against his crotch. He wails around Oikawa’s cock.

“Does this really feel good, sweetheart?” Hanamaki hisses, almost crushing Iwaizumi’s foot against his balls to emphasize his words. “You’re tightening so much.”

He hisses when Iwaizumi brings his other foot to his bound cock. The platforms squeeze at the base, a thrilling pressure on both sides.

“You’re humping Iwa-chan’s foot like a dog in heat.” 

“But that’s what he is, isn’t he?” Iwaizumi laughs, harsh and cruel. A sharp tug at the collar rips him away from Oikawa’s cock, but offers no relief to his abused throat as the grip cinches the thick leather tight against his neck, purposefully choking him. “Just our little bitch.”

Hanamaki pulls out roughly and Iwaizumi slams his feet back on the floor. Despite Matsukawa’s size, Hanamaki easily tosses him aside. When the pressure on his neck finally lets up he coughs and gasps for air, both for the necessity of breathing and to help get over the shock of being manhandled.

It’s not something he’s used to, not something he’s ever experienced, but _shit_ he might actually like it.

He has no time to mull it over any further. The _click_ of Iwaizumi’s heels hits his ears again, the sound traveling through the wooden floor, and he opens his eyes to find them standing above him on all sides, enjoying the sight of him loose-limbed and subservient. He quivers under the weight of their stares; feeling open and exposed, even down to every sparking nerve in his body. Iwaizumi leans over him with a smirk that would do the devil proud, shoe coming up to stroke his cheek.

“Go lie down over there.”

He angles his head to where Iwaizumi is pointing and against the wall are mats, stacked on top of each other high enough to reach past his waist. He plants a foot on the floor to stand but the point of a heel is pressed between his shoulder blades, forcing him back on his hands and knees.

Iwaizumi clicks his tongue disapprovingly, grinding his foot down harder on his spine. The stiletto is so sharp he thinks Iwaizumi can actually stab straight through him with it, given enough force. The platform is carrying most of Iwaizumi’s weight, a blunt oval pressure crushing the air out of him.

“Just like that.” Iwaizumi hisses, and the shoe lifts off of his back only after he nods.

He crawls over to the mats, the slow trickle of excess lubricant down his cleft taunting him every step of the way. He climbs the mats once they’re within reach and they sink beneath his weight. He sits but doesn’t lie down, looks up at them for further instruction.

A corner of Hanamaki’s lips curl in a smile as all three of them step close. His hand reaches out to cup his chin, tilting his head up. His thumb strokes over his lip and he opens beneath his wordless command, tongue burning beneath the salt of Hanamaki’s thumb as it slides in along with an index finger, pinching his tongue between his fingers.

“Such a good pet.” Hanamaki coos as he coaxes his tongue out, and Matsukawa tries not to wince when he moves in close and spits right into his mouth. His face burns red with humiliation as the wad of saliva hits the back of his throat, slides right down when Hanamaki forces his head back. 

Iwaizumi laughs, loud and derisive as his fingers hook beneath his collar. “Good pets need to be rewarded.”

Hanamaki smirks, the intensity in his eyes almost unnerving with their proximity, and releases his tongue, almost mockingly planting a soft kiss on his nose before backing away. Iwaizumi only applies the barest pressure to his collar, but Matsukawa is already sinking down, lying back on the mat, unquestioning even as Iwaizumi positions him and leaves his head and legs hanging over the edge.

“Open.” Iwaizumi commands and his lips are moving apart before he even finishes the last syllable.

Iwaizumi thrusts in just barely after his lips stretch open at their widest, driving into his mouth until the tip bumps the back of his throat. He pistons his hips instantly, and Matsukawa is left with little more to do than to relax his throat, lest he choke on his own saliva and Iwaizumi’s length. The position doesn’t leave much opportunity for him to maneuver but he soon catches the rhythm, countering each withdrawal by swallowing, his throat muscles constricting in the way he knows Iwaizumi is weak for.

On his other end, he registers hands— _Takahiro_ —hooking beneath his knees, holding his legs open. The length of a cock rocks against his cleft a few times before he plunges in and resumes fucking into him. He cries out, the walls of his ass clamping tight around Hanamaki as he slams against his prostate, nails gouging into the mat as the rough pace starts up again; deep, hard, _perfect_.

Suddenly, the mat dips, and his balance is thrown into disarray when it shifts beneath him. A hand comes up to his chest, right above his heart, as if to steady his erratic pulse.

“You’re okay.” _Tooru._ “You’re doing so well. Keep going.”

He wills himself to relax, continue focusing on pleasuring them, his throat resuming its ministrations on Iwaizumi’s length. A kiss is laid on the collar and it’s tight enough around his neck that he can still feel it, as if it was pressed directly on his skin.

He nearly chokes when the tip of his own erection rubs against a puckered rim. Oikawa’s hands are fumbling with the restraints and suddenly the pressure lifts, the air and heat bombarding his cock.

Oikawa’s weight is a steady, reassuring presence above him. He spears himself on Matsukawa’s cock and Matsukawa writhes at the suffocating heat, Oikawa pulsing around him. He wants to hold him still, keep him there and acclimate to the sensation but Oikawa begins bouncing on his dick, strong thighs flexing against his sides as he rides him.

It’s faint but he thinks he hears Iwaizumi moan appreciatively, and it manifests in the small twitches against his mouth, the hitches in his breath, the faltering of his rhythm.

Oikawa’s fingers graze against the curve of his jaw. “You’re so good, Mattsun, you’re amazing.”

Hanamaki groans in agreement, raising his leg higher, opening him wider. He presses a kiss to his ankle and hauls him back into another hard thrust. Oikawa’s touch is feather-light across his pecs, and he’s leaning forward, probably to kiss Iwaizumi. He wants to buck his hips upward and get more of himself inside Oikawa but he has no leverage, doesn’t have much control of anything other than his own hands. He claws after his orgasm, fingers scraping the mat, feral with the aching need for it.

He can hear Oikawa jerking himself off on top of him, his knuckles grazing his stomach. One of his hands quickly flies up to help him along and two strokes is all it takes for Oikawa to cry out in climax, striping his cum across his chest. When Oikawa contracts snug around him, he thinks he blacks out, the hand on the mat spasms, fingertips going numb as he clutches tight. His long-awaited release finally breaks over, wave after wave of it surging through him. He feels like he’s been thrust underwater, limbs floating and useless, ears bursting only with the barest echoes of sound.

There is a grunt above him, a tightening of the muscles in Iwaizumi’s thighs, and Iwaizumi pulls out too late, hot liquid shooting straight down his throat, the last of it spattering on his lips and cheeks. His head jerks away and he squeezes his eyes shut to protect them.

Iwaizumi slips out of him the same time Oikawa frees his softened cock and he groans at how his own cum leaks out of him, dripping down to his abdomen. Hanamaki’s still fucking him, chasing his own completion and he lies there, boneless and limp, savoring the slap of their bodies, his own helplessness. He whimpers, used hole quivering as Hanamaki thrusts in one final time, the pulses of his release flooding deep inside him.

He comes down from the high painfully slowly, not even the least bit bothered by how he’s sticky with fluids, spread wide and vulnerable. He feels sore but incredibly satisfied, the eddies of his orgasm still blazing through his body. 

There’s nothing but the chorus of heavy breathing, all three of his lovers trying to pull themselves back together. A hand cradles the back of his head and lifts it from the severe angle. He winces as pain shoots up his neck and two fingers immediately massage away the strain. 

“Hey.” Iwaizumi coaxes. Matsukawa catches whiff of the sharp tang of berries and opens his eyes to find a sports drink hovering over his lips. “You alright?”

Matsukawa hums and Iwaizumi continues to support his head to help him drink. Oikawa is still straddling him, nuzzling his chest and humming softly as he licks the streaks of cum he had spurted over Matsukawa’s torso. His hand comes up to the clasp holding his collar secure and Matsukawa grabs his wrist, making a small noise of protest. Oikawa laughs and Iwaizumi puts the bottle away.

“That’s Makki’s collar, you know.” he says, absently tracing the edges of it.

“You might wanna consider getting me my own then.”

Hanamaki grins from over Oikawa’s shoulder. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Matsukawa nods, cheeks warming over. Oikawa’s hand tugs playfully at the collar one more time and he rolls off to lie beside him on the mat. Matsukawa automatically curls his arm around Oikawa’s waist and pulls him close. Hanamaki whips his phone out from out of nowhere, snapping a photo before looking over them to leer at Iwaizumi.

“Seriously though Hajime, face-fucking someone in _heels_?” Iwaizumi pauses in the act of unstrapping the shoes to regard him with a flat look. “What else can you do in them?”

Matsukawa tries very hard not to be disappointed when Iwaizumi kicks the heels aside. “I’m fairly confident I can kill a man _in_ and _with_ those.”

Hanamaki snorts. “I bet you were just enjoying the fact that you were the tallest, for once.”

“You want me to use you as a demonstration, Takahiro?”

“I know it’s been your dream to join the 180cm club, Iwa-chan, but maybe you should accept that some things just aren’t meant to —ack!”

Matsukawa turns his head to find Oikawa nursing his ear, red at the curve where Iwaizumi probably flicked it. He snickers at Oikawa’s pout and lets him burrow into his chest with a petulant huff.

They settle back into post-coital bliss. Matsukawa’s can feel Hanamaki’s fingers gently loosening the knots in the backs of his knees. Iwaizumi’s still holding his head up, fingers playing with his hair, hooking into curls and pulling them straight, the gentle pressure a soothing massage on his aching scalp. Oikawa is idly drawing patterns on his chest, signing each invisible artwork with a kiss.

“I’m pretty sure at this point it’s physiologically impossible for me to get a hard-on, but you all have powers I swear to god.” Matsukawa groans, the familiar heat churning in his gut.

“You sure know how to flatter a man.” Iwaizumi angles him into a light kiss, scratching lightly at the buzz of hair at his nape. “Does it still hurt anywhere?”

“My knees are a little tender,” he mumbles, then groans when Hanamaki’s thumbs promptly dig into the hollow of his knee, “also I think I might need a cardiologist. You almost gave me a fucking heart attack earlier.”

“Aww Mattsun, of course I would have locked the door.” Oikawa croons, trailing a line of apologetic kisses down his face. Matsukawa makes a show of hardening his expression but Oikawa blows a raspberry on his cheek and he’s sold, laughing and leaning in as Oikawa nuzzles his jaw. 

“But you _liked_ it didn’t you?” Hanamaki grins conspiratorially, leaning over as he whispers, “You blew your load almost immediately after, and I wasn’t even doing anything.”

Matsukawa pouts and reaches down to pinch Hanamaki’s cheek. “You’re all assholes.”

“Think of it this way.” Oikawa leans close, breath teasing his lips. “You can make us pay for it next time.”

He ponders the idea, arousal stirring in his belly as his mind conjures up images of them nicely strung up, welts crisscrossing their skin, the weight of a riding crop in his hand. Iwaizumi sighs exasperatedly at his expression and leaves him with a chaste kiss.

He closes his eyes when they all slowly peel off of him and allows them adjust him as they see fit, trusting them implicitly to take care of him. He’s moved to one of the other mats, positioned so that it supports his legs and head. Warm hands wipe over his face with cloth and massage sore spots and he doesn’t bother keeping track of who’s doing what. He feels safe, he feels content.

When he opens his eyes next, he’s not quite sure how much time has passed, but he frowns when he realizes there’s only one set of hands on him. He shifts, wincing as his body unsticks from the mat, and when the hands lay flat on his back to discourage the movement he realizes from the sheer size of them that it’s Oikawa who’s with him.

“Where’d our cream puff and agedashi tofu go?” he asks, and his voice is definitely much better now, at least.

“Clearing out the gym.” Oikawa answers, continuing to ease the tension in his joints with talented fingers. “We _did_ put that off to take care of you.”

He rolls his eyes, mollified only a little when Oikawa kisses his temple.

“We’ll make it up to you when we get home. We need to clear the gym or else we’ll get in trouble.”

“Considering it’s your school and you’re the volleyball captain aren’t you the only one who’s gonna get in trouble?”

Oikawa chops the top of his head lightly. “This is the thanks I get for bringing your most elaborate fantasy to life? Way to be a thankful boyfriend, Mattsun.”

Matsukawa laughs good-naturedly, reaching up to run his fingers through Oikawa’s hair, still immaculately soft and styled despite their recent activities.

“You only did it to make it up to me for breaking my PS Vita. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that.”

Oikawa winces, laughing nervously. “Am I forgiven?”

Matsukawa grins and sneaks a kiss in reply. 

He lets Oikawa slip into his arms, thumb brushing the bite marks Iwaizumi left on his thighs. He frowns when he notes how _quiet_ it is. Not even the sound of ball carts being wheeled around can be heard.

“Are we even still sure they’re cleaning, or are they making out without us?”

“You ok enough to go check?” Oikawa smirks as he moves to stand, hand held out to help him up. “And join in, in case they are?”

Matsukawa grins and grabs the proffered hand, but instead of pulling himself up he tugs Oikawa down, an easy smirk creeping up his face at the undignified yelp as he tumbles into his arms. 

“How about we start our own make out session in here?”

Oikawa’s pout melts into a mischievous grin. He straddles Matsukawa’s lap properly and wraps his arms around his neck, meeting him in a few gentle pecks before hungrily opening his mouth, sucking greedily on Matsukawa’s bottom lip. Matsukawa’s fingers slide into his hair, sliding between soft locks. He breathes in the spicy cinnamon of Oikawa’s shampoo and moans, cradles Oikawa’s head to pull him closer. Oikawa shifts his head slightly and pulls himself up, tilting Matsukawa’s head back, allowing his tongue to push a little deeper.

“Do you love the taste of jizz _that_ much?” Matsukawa chides, between biting kisses and aggressive swipes of Oikawa’s tongue across his mouth. “No one should be this eager for a kiss after a blowjob.”

“Shush, Mattsun.” Oikawa hisses and proceeds to force Matsukawa to do just that.

The mop handles that Iwaizumi and Hanamaki bring down on their heads after discovering them? Worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> WOW WHAT A LOAD OFF MY SHOULDERS
> 
> I have so much to say about this fic, this series in particular, I'll leave them all [here](http://plumtreeforest.tumblr.com/post/142288624146/i-dont-know-why-i-have-a-lot-of-feelings-rn-but)
> 
> but thank you, thank you so much for your patronage for Four's a Party. This is the last fic in this series, the most challenging to write, and maybe I subconsciously put it off so long because I didn't want it to end yet. HAHA. I sincerely hope you enjoy. *bows*


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